Raindrops
by SilverStarsAndMoons
Summary: Emma Pillsbury becomes a guidance counsellor at William McKinley and meets Rachel Berry within her first few weeks of teaching. They quickly develop a relationship that finds Emma as a mentor and big sister figure to Rachel. Will/Emma eventually.
1. Chapter 1

It started with a referral from the freshman home room teacher, Mrs. Anjey. "Rachel Berry – having trouble adjusting to high school. Recommend one guidance appointment; will be sending her down this morning."

Emma Pillsbury pushes a hand through her soft red hair and purses her lips. She knows the student; she's seen her once before, talking to the other guidance counsellor, Mr. Henry. She was sobbing into her fists, her long dark hair bobbing on her shaking shoulders, her bare legs crossed under her short skirt. Emma had had to listen to a long tirade by the long-suffering older counsellor over a cup of tea at the career centre table.

"She's just not adjusting, but she thinks she's fine. I mean, I know teenage girls are typically emotional, but this one bounds from happy to sobbing in a minute. I literally feel like I've been wrung out emotionally," he'd complained, cupping his tea in his large hands, and Emma had nodded sympathetically. In her three weeks at McKinley High, she'd noticed that the students here were either really dramatic or very stereotypical. The groups were clearly defined here; everyone had money, and the football team's uniforms were sponsored by Nike. There didn't seem to be a whole lot to do compared to the school she'd subbed at in Buchanan County, Virginia.

Feeling back country herself, Emma had put away her sensible jumpers and crisp white blouses and went for a little bit more of a designer teacher look. It worked – the secretaries in Figgins' office ask her constantly where she gets her clothes – but she understands what it is to not fit in. With her stammering Appalachian accent and shy, hand-twisting demeanour, most people find her hard to approach, since all she would do was give them a startled look out of her chestnut-brown eyes. It's taken her this long to really even get up the courage to sit in the teacher's lounge, and she tends to eat her lunch long after everyone's pretty much filed out.

Mysophobia: it was a diagnosis given to her by the psychiatrist in Richmond, who had looked her up and down, watched her compulsively rub her hands with hand sanitizer, and asked her if she ever touched railings or bathroom doors. Since then, Emma's done her best to hide it from the people she sees every day, but she knows she's getting talked about behind her back.

Rachel, though. Though Emma's never really met with the girl, she's heard the rumours. And she keeps glancing at the door, waiting for the tiny whirlwind with the dark hair and big voice to come blowing through her door at any moment.

Sure enough, at ten o'clock exactly, a slight girl wearing an old-looking sweater and a short, flared pink skirt stands confidently in Emma's doorway, putting a hand on the freshly-cleaned glass panes and staring purposefully at the startled guidance counsellor.

"Ms. Pillsbury?"

Emma stares at Rachel, momentarily frozen. She takes in the carefully brushed shining brown hair, the sparkling dark eyes, and the admittedly Jewish features that have gotten Rachel dubbed "little Barbara" by the music teacher. Closing her mouth and trying to ignore the hand prints on her formerly-spotless office door, she clears her throat in a business-like manner.

"Hi, Rachel. I'm Emma Pillsbury; I'm the new guidance counsellor." Though Emma normally stammers and stutters in front of people her own age, she manages to keep a very soothing demeanour with the high school children she counsels. Emma has always been more comfortable with people younger than herself; maybe because she feels like she has some semblance of control.

Rachel sticks out a hand happily. "I know, hi. I'm Rachel Berry. Mrs. Anjey sent me here this morning; I'm not really sure why. I told her I'd be fine with an appointment with my own therapist, but she didn't want to wait until after school." Rachel shrugs, and turns her smile on Emma, who shakily extends a hand, touching Rachel's fingers, barely.

Rachel blinks, and for a moment, she looks slightly hurt. Emma cringes inwardly, but pumps some hand sanitizer into her hands, offering it solicitously to Rachel, who looks at it oddly. Emma clears her throat, puts the bottle back on her desk, and folds her hands.

"So, um, Rachel, Mrs. Anjey was concerned because you seemed, uh, upset in class today?" Emma's social work training kicks in, and her voice grows stronger. "Any particular reason why?"

"I wasn't upset," says Rachel, displaying the first instance of what Emma will call "the Rachel pout". "I was emotional, fine, but it's far from upset."

"Well, why were you emotional?"

"I got a nasty note." Rachel reaches into her backpack and pulls out a crumpled piece of foolscap, offering it to Emma, who makes a face as she picks it up and unfolds it.

"RACHEL BARRIE IS A FREAKISH WHORE" is written in scrawled caps across the ripped paper, and Rachel's eyes are on the floor when Emma looks up.

"Rachel, do you know who sent this to you?"

"Not for sure, but I have an idea." The strident tone is out of Rachel's voice now, and Emma suddenly flashes back to third grade and the pictures of cows that were pinned to the back of her dress after the story about the dairy farm got out at school.

She snakes a hand across the desk; rests it lightly on Rachel's sleeve, causing the girl to look up at her. Immediately, Emma knows that this act is not overconfidence; it's a desperate attempt to cover up the fact that this girl probably hasn't had a real friend ever.

"This is wrong," says Emma, forgetting to wince at her overpronounciation of the "G" at the end of the word. "This is wrong and you don't have to take it, Rachel."

Rachel shrugs, refusing to look Emma in the eyes. "I know Mrs. Anjey thinks I'm not ready for high school, but that's not true. I was hoping high school would be a different place for me. One where I could actually make some friends." She laughs a little, her hands twisting on the desk.

"Little did I know that most of the people from my middle school would choose to attend William McKinley."

"It is a feeder school for –" and Emma checks Rachel's file on her desk " – Lima Middle School."

Rachel looks up at Emma, and for the first time, Emma sees the girl as she really must be – sad, alone, small, and lonely. "It'll get better, right?"

Emma takes Rachel's hand, squeezes it, forgets that there might be germs lurking between the folds of her fingers, and looks her straight in the eyes. When she speaks, her voice doesn't wobble at all.

"It's only going to be better if you try to make it better. It won't get any better if you don't do your best to be yourself."

Rachel smiles, squeezes Emma's hand back, and lets go, packing the note away in her bag. When she looks up, the mask is back on her face; her eyes are sparkling, and her head is up.

"Thanks, Ms. Pillsbury. I'll see you around."

Emma smiles as Rachel leaves, and watches her check in with the secretary at the guidance desk while she cleans her desk and her hands with antibacterial wipes.

Later, the secretary brings Emma's schedule in for the next week, and Emma sees that Rachel has scheduled herself in for next Tuesday.

Little did Emma know, the Tuesday appointments were to take place regularly for the next year and a half.

//~//

Rachel is a pill to counsel. Emma finds herself gradually exhausted with the girl and eventually peevish.

"Rachel, you can't take all music courses. I'm sorry, but scholarships to music schools are rare."

"Clearly, Ms. Pillsbury, you don't recognize my talent!" Rachel's eyes are blazing and she grips the edge of the desk angrily. "I always have to explain myself to everyone who isn't musical and it's starting to get old. I don't need math and science, okay?"

Emma finally stands, shutting the door to her office. She takes a deep breath, comes behind Rachel, and rests a hand on her shoulder.

"Listen, Rachel. While you are talented, no question, you absolutely do need a well-rounded education. Music may only take you so far; it's extremely rare for anyone to actually make it to Broadway, okay? I'm sorry if this hurts, but you need to have something to fall back on. I've seen a lot of kids your age, coming from small towns, thinking they can make it, and then they end up without skill, waitressing somewhere. They never get their big break!"

Emma takes another breath; sighs, removes her hand and sits down at her desk, keeping her eyes locked on Rachel's. "I don't want to hurt your feelings or crush any dreams. I want you to know you can do anything you want. But I am here to help you keep your feet on the ground, okay?"

Rachel stares at Emma, stricken, and then bursts into tears.

Emma rolls her eyes inwardly, but pushes the Kleenex box across the desk. This is more than just course selection. It always is with Rachel.

"I thought you would be behind me on this," sniffles Rachel, rubbing her hands across her eyes and nose, ignoring the Kleenex. Emma sighs in exasperation.

"Rachel, if you're going to be in this office crying, please use a Kleenex. That's disgusting." Her voice is sharper than intended; sharper than she would be with any other student, but it works with Rachel. The girl scowls, but reaches for the Kleenex and sanitizes her hands for good measure as well.

"Thank you."

"Why are you being so cold today?" Rachel's voice is small, but Emma feels bad, anyway.

"I'm not trying to be cold; I'm trying to be realistic. I want to see you succeed, Rachel; you have almost a 4.0 grade average! You could do anything with those marks; get into whatever school you want. You don't have to focus on one talent. You need to think about the big picture."

Rachel sniffles into her Kleenex, careful to wrap it in another one before she throws it out. After almost a year coming for weekly appointments in Emma's office, she knows the rules. Emma smiles inwardly.

"Rach, come on. You know I'm right." Emma finds herself falling into more of an affectionate tone with this fucked-up little girl, more than she should. She knows it's dangerous to get close to the students, but she can't help but want to be on Rachel's side.

Rachel pouts. "Fine. Put me down for sophomore advanced math and both of the chemistry courses."

"I think you'd benefit from another English course, too."

"Whatever."

Emma cocks her head at Rachel. "Rachel."

"Can't I do this and still have all the music classes?"

"Rachel, there are only five periods in a day."

Rachel shrugs. "A lot of them have practices after school."

Emma puts her pen down and takes a sip of her tea. "Rachel, don't you have things you want to do after school?"

"Yes. I want to sing."

"I mean, with kids your own age."

"Ms. Pillsbury, don't."

"Rachel, I'm getting concerned. We talk every week and you don't tell me about any of your friends."

Rachel looks down at her hands, and Emma ducks her head to try to catch the petite brunette's gaze. "Rachel?"

"Maybe because I just don't have any, okay?" Rachel's eyes are teary again, but these are angry, defensive tears, and Emma finally gives up trying to get anywhere with this course selection appointment and comes to sit in the chair next to Rachel's.

"Hey, shh," she murmurs, rubbing Rachel's back, smoothing her flyaway hair down over her sweater. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"My dads are away this week," blurts Rachel. "I've been at home by myself."

Emma raises her eyebrows; Rachel is barely fifteen. "Oh, really?"

"Well, my aunt comes in and looks in on me every day, but I'm responsible for myself." She sniffles, and Emma rubs her back again.

"I'm sorry I asked, then. You must be lonely."

Rachel looks down at her skirt, then back up, blinking the tears away. "Anyway, Ms. Pillsbury, I have to go to class." She stands and clears her throat. "When do these have to be in by?"

"Not for another few weeks. We can talk again next week."

"Okay."

Emma watches Rachel go, feeling her heartstrings tug. What must it be like to be as lonely as the talented young freshman must be?

//~//

The rain is pouring tonight; it's April and the trees are dripping with the latest in a long line of April showers. Emma, who normally doesn't mind the rain, is curled up on her couch cushions with a big mug of tea, flipping through a novel and thinking about bed. Thinking, that is, until she hears a knock on the door downstairs.

Emma's condo is not really a condo; it's a townhouse by the park. It cost her a pretty penny, but she likes having both an upstairs and a downstairs, and she doesn't have to take care of her own lawn, so she's happy most of the time. However, she rarely gets midnight callers, and she wishes that she didn't have to creep down in her pajamas to look out the peephole, especially when it's nearing ten PM and she's tired.

When she looks through the hole, she doesn't see anyone, until the person knocks half-heartedly on the door again, and she sees the figure pull back. Her mouth drops open when she realizes it's Rachel Berry.

Now, it's not entirely hard to find out where teachers live in Lima; it's not a big town. But Emma's more than a little disturbed that Rachel took the time to look up her address and come to her door on a rainy Thursday night, especially when she has a home of her own, probably much bigger and nicer than Emma's.

Nevertheless, Emma opens the door. She can't leave the waif in the rain, especially since the girl looks like she's soaked through in the porch light.

"Rachel?" Emma squints against the blowing rain and quickly hurries the girl inside, closing the door securely behind her. In the hall light, Rachel looks smaller and more pathetic than Emma's ever seen her. Her coat and clothing are soaked; her hair is sticking to her forehead wetly under her hood, and her shoes are squelching on Emma's clean rug. She clutches a messenger bag to her chest, and she's crying, open-mouthed, mucousy sobs.

Emma's first reaction is to vomit. She quickly gets over that.

"Rachel, honey, what are you doing here?" She immediately snaps to attention, her accent strong in her surprise, and runs into the ensuite bathroom off the hallway to grab some towels out of the linen closet.

"How do you know where I live?"

Rachel is crying too hard to answer, so Emma shuts up and tosses Rachel a towel after helping her off with her dripping coat. Emma doesn't even want to touch it, but she manages to hang it up over the mud mat inside the closet (after shoving her own coats far away from Rachel's and vowing to dry clean everything in the morning).

Rachel stands there, holding the towel, her hands shaking, until Emma finally takes it from her and begins to wipe Rachel's face and hair briskly. "Come on, Rachel, get dried off. Take off your shoes, there," she directs, finally getting Rachel to move off the mat, which Emma promptly tosses into the washer in the adjoining laundry room.

Rachel is directed into the ensuite bathroom. "Wash your face and hands, and I'll get you some dry clothes," Emma tells Rachel, wondering what the heck she's going to put the girl in. Certainly none of her pajamas. Her gaze lights on an old shopping bag at the back of the laundry room door – it has a too-small jade-green velour exercise suit that her aunt pressed on her at Christmas and that Emma never got around to taking back. Perfect.

Clipping the tags off quickly with her pinking shears, she passes the clothes through the door, still slightly ajar. "Put those on, and then come upstairs."

Emma can hear Rachel's sobs, turning into shuddering hiccups, as after five or so minutes, she hears light footsteps on the stairs. Rachel's hair is still relatively pristine, but her bangs are frizzed to the side and her face is swollen and tearstained. She sits where Emma points her, in the chair beside the kitchen, and sniffles appallingly.

"Rachel, that's disgusting," says Emma, a constant refrain with this girl, and gets up to find the Kleenex box. She brings it and a wastebasket, putting them beside the sniffling girl, when Rachel bursts into tears afresh and Emma finally drops to her knees beside Rachel's chair.

"Shh, shh," Emma breathes into Rachel's hair, putting her arms around the shaking girl, trying not to think about any rain getting on her pajamas. Rachel curls herself into Emma's arms and sobs.

"Oh, my. Rachel, what happened? Hmm?" Emma strokes back Rachel's bangs, trying to smooth them down, when Rachel finally speaks.

"I had an audition at the community theatre," she hiccups, rubbing a Kleenex across her nose and depositing it into the wastebasket. Emma gives up on kneeling beside the girl's chair and moves them both to the couch, bringing the wastebasket with them.

Rachel curls up against Emma's shoulder and Emma begins to rock her, trying to figure out what could possibly be the matter. "I didn't get it, but when I tried to get home, I locked myself out. And then Noah Puckerman and his friends came by and splashed me with their car, and I was already soaking wet, and I didn't get the part, and my aunt isn't going to be home till late tonight, and I just didn't know where else to go!"

Rachel's voice gets louder at the end, and Emma winces, rubbing the girl's back soothingly until she calms back down.

"I just don't know how you got here," says Emma bemusedly. "I don't exactly give out my address to students."

Rachel sits up a little, her lips pushed into a trembling pout. "I know where you live. I saw you last summer, moving in. I only live two streets over from you." She wipes her eyes and tries to smile. "I saw your moving truck, and I saw you dusting the furniture outside on the lawn."

Emma blinks, and shakes her head. "Anyway, Rachel, come on. I'll give you a ride home. I'm so sorry that you had a bad night, sweetie." She strokes Rachel's hair for a moment, then extends a hand to help the girl up.

But Rachel's face has fallen again, and Emma sighs. Rachel Berry looks like a lost puppy and Emma has never been able to resist lost puppies, especially in the guise of children.

"You can't stay here, Rach," says Emma, shaking her head. "It's breaking about a million school rules, not to mention I don't have another bed."

Rachel's chin begins to quiver, and Emma sighs. "I have to drive you home."

But she looks down at Rachel, and knows that the freshman isn't going anywhere fast. She really is just a little girl.

Emma leaves Rachel in the living room for a moment and brings her cup to the kitchen, scrubbing it thoughtfully under the hot water. If she drops the girl off an hour or so before school, Rachel can still get to school herself and have time to change her clothes. Emma blinks when she realizes that she's actually considering letting Rachel stay.

The problem is, though she can think of about a million reasons why she shouldn't let the girl stay, she can't think of any compelling ones.

Emma dries her cup, puts it away, and then comes back into the living room, ready to tell Rachel that she can stay, just for tonight.

However, Rachel isn't listening. She's curled up on Emma's couch, asleep.

Emma drops a blanket over Rachel and strokes the girl's hair for a moment, wondering if she's just lost her senses completely. She probably has.

She doesn't care.

Emma pads into her bedroom and switches on the light to read quietly for half an hour or so before she turns off the lights. But just as she's about to fall asleep, she hears footsteps in the room.

"Rachel?"

The girl's big brown eyes catch the light from the streetlight outside the window and she twists her hands in the slightly too long velour sweat suit.

"I just wanted to say goodnight," comes the small voice in the darkness, and Emma nods.

"Good night, Rachel. I'll wake you up at six tomorrow – we've got to get you back to your house by seven."

Rachel nods, but then her lower lip trembles, and Emma sighs. "Rachel. Go to sleep. We're already doing about a thousand things wrong."

Rachel continues to stand beside Emma's bed, and then Emma finally gives up and pats the covers. "I don't know why the couch isn't good enough for you," she grumbles, turning onto her side away from Rachel, and trying not to think about how awkward this is. But really, she feels like a big sister, and that's not something Emma's ever gotten to feel, being the youngest in her family.

Rachel is warm against Emma's back, and falls asleep quickly. Just before Emma drops off to sleep herself, she feels Rachel move towards her in her sleep, clinging onto her warmth and sighing deeply.

Emma doesn't foresee much sleep tonight. She smiles, anyway.

Abrasive, hard-to-love Rachel Berry certainly does manage to worm her way into people's hearts.


	2. Chapter 2

The sun is bright the next morning; Emma squints in the unexpected light and remembers that she forgot to close the curtains the night before. She moves in bed, stretching her legs luxuriously, and makes to get up when she realizes that the heavy weight on her chest is actually an arm clinging loosely around her middle. Frowning, Emma turns over to regard the closed eyes and slightly parted lips of a sleeping Rachel Berry.

The events of the night come rushing back to her and she frantically checks the time. It's a few minutes before the alarm she set last night is to go off; the sun is rising earlier and earlier these days. She gently disentangles herself from Rachel, smoothing the covers over the girl, rubbing her back a little when Rachel sighs and makes a soft noise, moving restlessly in the bed, and pads into the bathroom.

Emma spends about half an hour every morning getting ready; her morning toilette is quite precise. She unrolls the rollers in her hair, brushing it out and spraying it carefully into place. She puts on her makeup, chooses her clothing, and then drinks her tea while watching the morning news and quickly skimming the headlines on the Internet for anything interesting. This morning, though, she quickly pins her hair up, not bothering with it, and chooses a simple winter white dress with a pink belt and pink Mary Janes.

Starting the kettle, she comes back into the bedroom to wake Rachel.

"Rachel, wake up, sweetie. I've got to take you home."

Rachel's eyes open slowly, fluttering a little as she tries to come out of sleep. She fails to make it to the surface, though, and her eyes slowly close again. Emma sighs in exasperation and checks the clock. They really only have an hour and a half before Rachel needs to be at school.

She shakes Rachel, a little more urgently this time. "Come on, Rach, wake up, please. You've only got an hour and a half before school."

Rachel wakes up this time, yawning, stretching, and then looking in confusion at Emma, as if she can't figure out why the guidance counsellor would be standing in front of her, waking her up, as opposed to one of her dads or her alarm clock.

Then she remembers and flushes red. "Ms. Pillsbury –"

Emma just shakes her head. "Rachel, we don't have time. Later, okay?" She smiles; pursing her lips a little, and brushes a strand of Rachel's long hair out of her eyes. Rachel smiles back, a little confused, and still looking about as lost as she did the night before, but she obediently goes into the bathroom and comes out a few minutes later with a clean face and brushed teeth.

In the car on the way home, Rachel clutching her still-damp clothing in a plastic bag, Emma looks out the window at the fresh April morning and says nothing to Rachel, who is pouting into her coat, only speaking to give directions.

When they pull up in front of Rachel's house, Rachel turns to Emma, and opens her mouth, but Emma shakes her head again.

"Later, Rachel."

Rachel's face suddenly crumples. "I just wanted to say thank you."

Emma looks over at the younger girl and feels bad. "You're welcome, but this can't happen again, okay?"

Rachel's pout grows bigger. "I know, I just . . . thank you anyway, for helping. Last night." She fiddles with the seatbelt buckle, but it sticks, and Emma finally leans over to help her, her fingers brushing against Rachel's. Like she's touched something hot, Emma jumps, snatching back her hand, and Rachel suddenly begins to cry, two tears rolling down her pale cheeks.

"I didn't want to make it awkward," she sniffles, rubbing a hand across her face until Emma offers her a Kleenex.

"Rachel," begins Emma, and then just gives up. "It's not awkward, okay, but it's not appropriate. I know you wanted some help last night, and I know you were all alone, but you can't come to me . . . well, outside of school. I'm sorry," she finishes lamely, and then feels awful as Rachel immediately gropes for the door, the tears running down her face.

"Rach, wait," calls Emma, and Rachel pauses with one foot out the door.

"What, Ms. Pillsbury?" Her face is streaked with tears, and the early morning sunlight catches the blue circles under her eyes. Emma flashes back briefly to waking up, Rachel's arms around her body, and then pushes the thought from her mind.

"I don't want to be mean to you. I didn't say any of this to be mean. You just . . . need to learn boundaries. You know?"

Rachel stands up and turns to face Emma. "Yes, I know. Thank you, anyway."

She slams Emma's door with more force than necessary and Emma sighs as she watches Rachel run to her door. This is going to be a long day, and she's already exhausted.

//~//

Emma is having trouble staying awake today and she's already on her third cup of coffee. That, coupled with her extreme anxiety, is causing her hands to shake a little and her restless feet to tap on the floor. She's had three guidance appointments, but it's clear she's not on form when one confused football player asks her why she just gave him the pamphlet for divorced parents instead of the one for the Ohio university he'd requested.

When he leaves, she slumps down in her chair and allows herself to close her eyes for just a moment, uncrossing her legs and relaxing them under her desk, but she's quickly pulled from the sleep she's craving by Will Schuester's voice.

"Emma?"

She opens her eyes immediately, widening them in surprise at his concerned face.

"Are you okay?" His voice is soft, and he sits down in front of her, peering into her face. She nods her head in confusion, but he cocks his head slightly, and she shrugs. "Why?"

"Because I don't think I've ever seen you with your hair up at school. And you're not wearing much makeup today. And your cup is dirty," he says, pointing at her white cup with the silver "E" on it. She stares at it for a few minutes, and then tries to smile.

"It's okay. I'm just a – I just didn't sleep that well last night."

He looks sympathetic. "Insomnia?"

"In a way." Emma flashes back to Rachel's tearstained face, both last night and this morning, and feels bad. "I had a bit of a crisis."

"Yeah, don't we all," he replies, slumping in his chair. "Terri was up all night with the flu. I was running back and forth with a bucket the entire night."

Emma's eyes widen and she moves her chair back a little. "Um, well, that's too bad . . ."

"Don't worry," he says, his eyes crinkling. "I washed my hands before I came in here, and I slept on the couch last night."

She relaxes a bit, and smiles. "That couldn't have been too comfortable." She's aware that she's opening up discussion about Will's marriage; Will, who she's had a crush on for a year – Will, who's shown her concern, sympathy, and understanding during her most awkward moments where she would have gotten up and left.

"No, I'm used to it," he says, running a hand through his curly hair. "Terri has trouble sleeping, so, I get relegated to the couch a lot. At least it's a comfortable mattress; it is a pull-out."

"Oh," says Emma, leaning forward. "Doesn't that, well, doesn't that bother you?"

He shrugs. "If it means that she gets a good night's sleep, I'm happy." He clears his throat then, looking up at her. "You know how it is, with significant others. You want to make sure their needs are met."

Emma shakes her head before she thinks. "No, I've never really had someone living with me," she blurts, and then wishes she hadn't said anything when Will looks surprised.

"Really? I would have thought you'd be married, or at least with someone long-term."

Then Emma makes another gaffe. "Why would you think that?"

Will shrugs. "I just would have thought so. You're a sweet woman. I just find it hard to believe that you wouldn't have a significant other." He stops talking when Emma's cheeks flush bright pink, and then shakes his head.

"Emma, this isn't . . . this isn't really a conversation we should be having." He smiles wryly, and her face flushes even redder.

"Um, well, I'm sorry, I – "

"It's a little inappropriate. It's none of my business about your personal life." He doesn't say it, but his tone does – it's none of her business about his married life, either.

"Well, I, I wasn't really meaning to –"

"Yeah, but we both should know better. This isn't gossip time in the cafeteria. And really, we don't even really know each other well enough, you know?"

He stands. "I've got to go – run off some copies of the sophomore Spanish test. See you around, Em."

She's mortified and doesn't even watch him leave. Instead, she covers her face for a moment and then reaches shakily for her hand sanitizer. She's never done this before – never pried and gotten caught, that is. She has always attempted to keep her crushes secret, especially crushes on people she can never have.

And his tone – the offhand sternness, as if he were talking to one of his students for not paying attention in class, or for passing a note. She flushes red again, her lower lip trembling, thinking about how humiliated and wrong-footed she felt, and then reaches for her Kleenex box.

She DOES know him, better than he thinks. They've been having lunch together at least twice a week for eight months. It clearly means nothing to him, but it means everything to her, and it hurts, to have him brush it off like it's nothing.

Is she really so strange that she doesn't have anyone? What would he think if he knew she was still a virgin?

She rubs the Kleenex on her face, trying to stop the hurt tears before they spill down her face, but before she can get herself back under control, she hears a sharp knock at her door.

Rachel Berry stands framed in the entrance, and her face is concerned.

"Ms. Pillsbury?"

Emma tries to clear her throat, find her professionalism, but she can't speak without her voice cracking, so she just stares at Rachel in distress until Rachel backs a few steps out the door.

"I'm . . . I'm sorry, I'll come back." Rachel looks down at her clasped hands, then back up at Emma, who's trying her best to get herself back under control, and she sighs a little.

"Are you okay?" Rachel's clear voice falls on the still air, and Emma suddenly can't hold back the floodgates. She's tired, and Rachel is the last person she wants to see, and she hates that her walls are glass and anyone can see her breaking down, but she breaks down anyway, and stands up.

"I just – I just can't, now, Rach," Emma manages to get out, but her voice is choked with tears and her accent is very strong, and Rachel, instead of going away like any other student, boldly steps forward and wraps her arms around Emma, this being the only way she can think of to comfort her mentor.

Emma's first reaction is to step away, and she does, a little, but Rachel's arms are like bands around her, and eventually she relaxes, bit by bit, and her own arms go around the slightly smaller girl. Rachel smells like a mixture of some astringent, acidic cheap perfume, shampoo, and a smell Emma can't quite name – a clean, sweet smell, that might be Rachel's personal scent.

She leans into Rachel, and Rachel holds her securely, and tightly, and when Emma finally lets go, Rachel rests her head for a second on Emma's shoulder before letting go, too.

"Rachel – "

"I already know, it wasn't appropriate." Rachel flounces into a chair, crossing her legs. "Look, I'm sorry about last night."

Emma wipes her face with a Kleenex, pulls the last of her self-control together, and tries to focus. "Rachel, I'm not mad that you came to me last night when you had no one else. I'm glad you recognized me as someone that can help you."

Rachel sighs. "But. There's a but in there."

"But I can't be your friend. I can only be your teacher."

Rachel shrugs. "Seems like you're a friend, too. You let me hug you. You don't let anyone touch you." She looks at Emma's desk, at the hand sanitizer and the wet wipes, and shrugs. "You're a germophobe."

Emma draws herself up. "Actually, the correct term is mysophobia, and yes, I do let people touch me." She coughs a little, and focuses on Rachel.

"I can only be your teacher."

"That's fine. But you should learn not to cry in your office. I saw you crying from like, down the hall." Rachel stands up, looking offended, and Emma sighs.

"Rachel."

Rachel doesn't turn. "I thought I could count on you to be my friend. To be one of the only people that understands me. And I thought maybe, we had something in common. Because we both want things we can't have."

Emma sighs. "It's not that I don't want to be your friend, Rach, it's just that you need friends your own age."

Rachel pouts stubbornly. "I told you a lot of stuff. I slept in the same bed as you. If you didn't want to listen or to help, you should have told me before I made such a freak of myself."

Emma sanitizes her hands slowly, thinking that over. "You're right, Rachel. I wasn't fair."

"You and every other adult," mutters Rachel, and leaves the room. Emma watches her go, and sighs. Why can nothing go right today?

//~//

She catches sight of Will Schuester in the music room just before she leaves school, glad to get away and nurse her aching head. Today has been a roller coaster of emotion and she's just ready to go home and soak it all away in her bathtub with the jets that she paid extra for, perfect for days like today.

Will is playing the guitar and singing, and Emma stops just outside the door and his vision to listen. His voice is smooth and steady, like a lullaby, and the guitar notes fall on the air. She listens until he stops playing, and then sighs happily, a little too loudly, at the door. He looks up.

"Hey, Emma."

It's too late to duck back. She sighs, steps forward. "Hi."

He strums a few chords, puts the guitar aside. "Listen. I was a bit . . . well, I was rude earlier. I'm sorry. I hope I didn't upset you."

Emma shakes her head, but her wary expression doesn't change. "No. You were right."

"Listen, I should tell you." He comes over, touches her shoulder, looks a bit shamefaced when she draws back. "I'm sorry, you're a friend. And I shouldn't have said those things to you. Because you didn't deserve it. You're a good person, Emma. And you were only trying to help."

Emma closes her eyes a moment, feels the ever-present tears today at the back of her eyes, ready to fall, and gropes for self-control. "No, you were right, Will. It's not appropriate for us to be talking about our personal lives at school. Or anytime, really."

"Only that's all we actually do," quips Will, and Emma smiles a real smile for the first time all day.

"Well, no harm done," she says, trying for cheerful, and Will smiles a little at her accented words.

"Can I walk you out?"

She lets him carry her bag to the car, and waits patiently as she cleans the door handles in the sunshine. He's never once asked why she needs to compulsively clean everything; she figures it's either he's being polite, or he's waiting for the right time. She never wants to talk about the mysophobia; however, with Will, she feels like she'd be ready to if he asked.

He smiles at her, hands over the bag. "Well, have a great night."

"Thanks, Will." She smiles at him, and then turns, startled at Rachel Berry standing right behind her.

"Rachel!" Emma's nerves, already frayed, finally snap and she speaks much more harshly than intended. "You can't sneak up on me like that! Why aren't you at home?" Emma runs a hand in exasperation through her hair and sighs, trying to ignore the hurt look on Rachel's face.

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. And I won't come to your office anymore."

Emma suddenly feels like she can't deal with any of this. "Rachel," she begins, but Rachel shakes her head.

"No, you're right, I'm being inappropriate. And I'm sorry for leeching off you. I tend to do that to people," she says wryly, her lips twisting, and Emma puts her bag at her feet, gently, straightening up to look Rachel in the eye.

"Rachel. None of this is because I don't want to talk to you, or I don't enjoy your company. You're a talented, very nice young woman. And I am not angry that you want to spend time with me."

Rachel looks confused, and Emma wants to kick herself for sending mixed messages, so she just pulls Rachel into her arms, and holds her against her chest for a moment, stroking her hair.

"Hey. I'll give you a ride home, okay?"

Rachel smiles a little, pulling back from Emma. "Okay."

On the way home, Emma opens the windows and Rachel fiddles with her CD player, singing randomly along to the songs she knows; smiling when she catches Emma looking at her expectantly.

"Don't stop singing," Emma says, smiling. "I like to hear your voice."

"Singing's the one thing I'm good at," says Rachel. "It's the one thing that I love to do that no one else laughs at me for."

They pull up in front of Rachel's house, and Emma smiles. "Have a great night, Rachel."

"Ms. Pillsbury?"

Emma looks at Rachel, and that's when she makes her mistake. "You can call me Emma outside of school, Rach."

Rachel smiles a little, blushes like a grade-schooler to call a teacher by her first name. "Emma? I know you said we couldn't be friends, but . . . can I still come see you sometimes?"

Emma smiles. "I'd like that, Rachel."

Rachel grins, whipping out of the car and back up the walk. As Emma drives away, she wonders what exactly she's done here.

Remembering Rachel's grateful smile, she isn't sure she cares.


	3. Chapter 3

The months pass quickly in the second semester of high school; before you know it, it's final exams and then kids start chattering about summer vacations and making plans to get together. Signing yearbooks becomes an art in social dynamics; Emma watches several shy kids wander around with open books, trying to get the elusive signature of the most popular kid in their class or their secret crush. She knows from experience that they will go home and moon over it all summer, thinking of looking up phone numbers, maybe even trying to call once or twice. She knows most will be hurt – it breaks her heart.

Rachel Berry continues to see her every Tuesday morning. The chats become more personal; Rachel begins to delve more into Emma's life, slowly leaving her feelings behind as she learns more and more about Emma and her quirks.

Emma doesn't disclose anything she doesn't think is common knowledge, but Rachel's questions become more probing. Why doesn't Emma take milk in her tea? Why does she always wash her hands with hand sanitizer? Why won't she touch door handles? It all falls under the umbrella of mysophobia, but Emma doesn't feel comfortable telling Rachel any of the particular details why she has so many quirks until one hot June day, just before the end of school.

Rachel was unnecessarily pouty that day. She had even kicked her feet up against the leg of Emma's desk, something that Emma had spoken sharply to her about. Upon resting her feet properly on the floor, Rachel had pouted at Emma and asked,

"Why are you always so . . . exacting, Emma? You're always sniping at me."

Emma sighed. "It's Ms. Pillsbury in school, Rachel. You know that. And, well," Emma moved her cup so that the silver printing on the side caught the light from the window, "I just think that you have better manners than that. And after a year of you coming in here, you know what I like to see and don't like to see."

Rachel scowled at that and stared moodily out the window until Emma put a hand on her arm. "Rach? What's really the problem here?"

Rachel's pout got even bigger and Emma gave her arm a little shake. "Come on, Rachel, out with it."

"I don't really want to have summer vacation," she muttered. "We don't really go on vacation, because my dads work, and I get so bored at home. And then Quinn Fabray and her bunch of idiot friends post all over my MySpace page and I don't even want to leave the house."

Emma rubbed Rachel's wrist, feeling her fragile bones just under her skin, and sighed. "I can understand that, Rach. You're someone who really thrives on activity. I get that."

"I just . . . I guess I've never really admitted this to you, because really, Emma, what would you know about it, but I'm lonely. I wish I had friends."

Emma didn't bother to correct Rachel's second use of her first name. "I think it would be beneficial for you to join a community club or something, Rach. Why not a choir?"

"Because they're full of old people who can't sing and I'm not interested. I hate this town," she scowled, crossing her legs. "There's nothing to do here. Small towns suck."

Emma, who happens to love small towns, had frowned. "I disagree with that," she replied. "But I do understand what it's like to be lonely. I was a kid once, too, you know."

"What happened?"

Emma had blinked at Rachel's question. "What do you mean?"

"Well, clearly, Ms. Pillsbury, something happened to you between being a kid and being an adult that made you all weird and stuff. What was it?"

Emma had rolled her eyes. "Thanks, Rach."

"No, really – you never talk about it. Why not?"

The bell had rung at that point, and Emma stood up gratefully. "Rach, let's not worry about it for now. You've got almost two months of glorious vacation. Enjoy it!"

"What will you do this summer?"

"Oh, probably go and visit my family in Virginia, work a little on my window box garden." Emma omitted the fact that she would also be taking on some language courses as a way to get closer to Will – help him mark papers, maybe take one of his classes if he was sick.

Rachel sighed. "Well, maybe I'll see you around the neighbourhood."

Emma had smiled. "Sure, Rach. See you around." She locked the door to her office quietly, secretly happy to have a break from Rachel's constant angst. "Have a great summer, okay?"

"Thanks, Ms. Pillsbury."

As Emma clacked down the hall, she loosened the bow around her neck and unbuttoned her cardigan, as happy as any of the students to be getting out into the fresh air and home for vacation. She took off the light purple sweater as soon as she got outside, feeling the air meet her skin and the warmth of the day on her shoulders.

And she smiled, knowing that this summer, she could recharge and be ready to start her second year at McKinley knowing a little more about how the school worked – and what it was like to be Rachel's personal guidance counsellor.

At least now, she'd have a break.

//~//

It was about three weeks into summer vacation when Rachel appeared at Emma's doorstep again. This time, however, she wasn't crying or looking upset – she had brought a vase of colourful gerbera daisies and wore a bright smile.

"Hi, Emma!"

Emma had blinked from where she sat on her porch, lowering her magazine and squinting into the twilight air of a summer in Western Ohio. "Hey, Rachel. Um, what are you doing here?"

"Just came over for a visit. See how your summer was going." Rachel plopped down happily on the steps to the tiny porch outside Emma's door, setting the pot down carefully.

"It's, uh, it's going well. You know, Rach, you really shouldn't be here."

"Why, am I bothering you?" Rachel stood up, turning to stare at Emma, her shining hair flying out with her movement. "I know you said that it was inappropriate, but it was just a visit, and I wasn't planning to stay long!"

Emma stood up hurriedly, her tranquil mood shattered by Rachel's anxiety. She came down the steps, her colourful floral summer dress billowing out around her bare legs. "No, honey. You're not bothering me. It's just . . . I'm still a teacher, even in the summer."

She put a hand on Rachel's shoulder. "But I am happy to see you. You look good; really well-rested. Are you getting some relaxation time in?"

Rachel impulsively hugged Emma then, and Emma hugged her back, once again enjoying Rachel's clean, sweet scent and affectionate personality. She brushed Rachel's hair back off her forehead and let the girl rest her head on her shoulder. Despite the heat, the hug was welcome – Emma hadn't realized how much she missed human contact sometimes.

"Well, it's Tuesday, and I realized that I'd been missing our Tuesday chats, so I wanted to know if you, well, if you wanted to go for a walk or something?" Rachel's voice was casual, but her arms around Emma were tight and Emma could tell by her demeanour that she feared rejection.

And really, there was once again about a million reasons not to do this, but it made so much sense at the time, and it made Rachel so happy, and Emma couldn't find one good reason to refuse.

"Sure, sweetie. Let me get my sandals on. Can't walk with bare feet."

"Too dirty," agreed Rachel, and then started to giggle. Rachel's belly laugh never failed to get Emma going – she'd never known someone with such an infectious laugh in her life. And for the first time since Emma had moved to Ohio, she laughed without being nervous, without worrying who heard her. And that just made Rachel laugh more, to have someone to share it with.

The Tuesday walks continued throughout the summer, and Emma found herself actually looking forward to seeing the slight brunette walking towards the house. Rain or shine, she showed up, and when Emma wasn't up to walking in the rain, she invited Rachel in and they sipped tea in her living room, Rachel flitting from one side to another, looking at Emma's pictures and asking a million questions about her life. Where in Appalachia was she from? What did she do for fun? What was her family like?

Emma always sat and answered the questions as honestly as she could. She felt flattered that Rachel had such an interest in her. And one night, when a thunderstorm warning had both of them ensconced in Emma's living room, she held Rachel close as the girl's face drained of colour at one of the big strikes of lightning.

"It's so stupid to still be afraid of storms," said Rachel from the safety of Emma's arms, playing with a piece of her hair. Emma stroked back Rachel's hair and pulled a blanket around them both.

"It's not stupid to be afraid of things, Rachel. Everyone has some sort of fear."

Rachel had shifted on the couch, looking up at Emma curiously. "I know you do. Are you ever going to tell me what happened to you?"

Emma had relaxed back against her couch cushions, resting her head against the edge of the couch, and sighed. "It's just not something I tell too many people, Rach."

Rachel had pouted. "I know everyone has secrets. I just thought . . . we're friends now, aren't we?"

Were they? Emma had not really thought that far. She thought of Rachel as more of a little sister, someone who needed a lot of comfort and guidance. But she realized that she got something out of the relationship, too – she got comfort, and laughter, and she genuinely enjoyed the girl's company.

"Sure, I guess we are. Friends, I mean."

Rachel cuddled closer to Emma, who pressed a kiss onto her hair, almost unconsciously. She couldn't help being affectionate with Rachel. Rachel was, and is, very easy to love.

"Well, when I was eight, my dream was to be a dairy farmer. I know, it's crazy, but that's what I wanted to do. We finally visited one on my eighth birthday and after the yogurt tasting and the tour of the milking barn, my brother pushed me into the runoff lagoon, and I sometimes have trouble forgetting the experience."

"Is that why you're so afraid of germs?"

"Well, not afraid, really, just . . . I can't deal with messes."

Rachel hadn't commented then, but Emma noticed that for the rest of the summer, she was careful to make sure that Emma didn't have to touch or deal with uncomfortable things at all.

It became yet another reason why Emma started to consider Rachel a very important part of her life.

//~//

School started in late August, just when the humidity of Western Ohio was at its peak. Emma finds it extremely hard to sit in the school and breathe in all the disgusting scents of sweaty, hot teenagers whose hormones are running over time. Even the ones that do shower still end up sweaty, their deodorant failing halfway through the day, and Emma spends most of her time in her office with the air conditioner running high and a Kleenex over her nose.

Rachel has continued to see her every Tuesday, now chattering about Will Schuester and the Glee club, something that has even Emma excited. Rachel has become a different person; less angsty, less ready to cry at the drop of a hat. She's started talking about the solos Will is letting her sing, and even how much fun she's having with the rest of the choir, though she won't say if she has any friends in the club.

Finally getting a chance between beginning of the year appointments to use the washroom, Emma takes a moment to wash her hands thoroughly and sponge down her slightly sweaty face, reapplying her makeup. As she finishes, she hears a sudden coughing, then gagging, then the unmistakeable sound of vomit hitting the toilet bowl.

Emma actually gags herself before she gets herself back under control and knocks on the offending door.

"Excuse me? Are you all right in there?"

There's a sudden choke, then another pain-filled gag and more vomiting sounds. The door is unlatched, so Emma pushes it open to find Rachel, her hair clinging to the sides of her pale face, heaving for the third time into the toilet.

"Rachel, honey! Are you sick?" Emma's concern comes out before her panic does and she takes a small step forward, trying not to step all the way into the stall. Her hands clench; her legs begin to shake, but this is Rachel. She's not about to leave her alone.

Rachel's eyes are full of tears, and she won't talk to Emma at first, but once the colour comes back into her cheeks (and Emma has her sip from a water bottle), the tears start coming harder and faster, and she ends up collapsing into Emma's arms.

"Finn Hudson," is all Rachel can get out at first, and Emma's arms tighten around Rachel protectively.

"Who, sweetheart?"

"He's the new leading baritenor in the Glee club," sniffles Rachel, rubbing her hand across her sweaty face and nose. Emma finally can't take it anymore and breaks away, going to the sink and wetting a paper towel. She hands it to Rachel, who mops her face.

"Did he say something to you?"

"No . . . I just want to be prettier. Thinner. I'm not sick, I just want to lose weight."

At that revelation, all Emma can do is gape for a moment. Rachel maybe weighs one hundred fifteen pounds soaking wet. She's delicate-boned and strong-featured, sure, but she's got gorgeous brown eyes and beautiful hair. Emma can't possibly fathom why Rachel would want to put herself through so much abuse.

But high school rarely makes sense. After Emma washes her hands about three times in a row (and catches Rachel looking shame-faced about that), she comes and sits beside Rachel on the benches that border the girl's locker room, and hugs her close, tightly.

"You are so beautiful, Rachel. You don't need to do this to yourself."

Rachel's tears slip down her face and she begins to sob for real, her shoulders hitching, her nose beginning to run. And after a few moments of this, Emma finally gets up and finds more Kleenex, waiting until Rachel gets herself under control before checking her watch.

"Look, sweetheart. I'm going to recommend you go home for the rest of the day, okay?"

"Will you drive me home?" Rachel's face is red and swollen, and her legs are shaky to the point where Emma isn't sure she can walk on her own. Though Emma doesn't want to say yes, she can't condemn this girl to find her own way home.

"We'll call your dads, okay?"

"They're at work. Lawyers can't just walk out of court," sniffles Rachel, and Emma sighs.

"Can you hold on until the end of the day, if I send you to the nurse's office?"

It's just about lunchtime, and Rachel looks exhausted, but she nods. Emma puts a hand on her back, helping her file out of the bathroom and down the hall to the nurse's office. Once she gets Rachel settled on the bed, she drapes a light blanket over her and smiles.

"I can't stay in here, Rach."

Rachel is already sleepy. "I know, too many germs. Come back later?" Her brown eyes slit open, and Emma runs a hand over her hair.

"I'll come get you at the final bell, drive you home."

As Emma leaves the nurse's office, she feels the familiar panic beginning to set in, and she hurries back to her office, needing her hand sanitizer badly. On the way, she runs smack into Will Schuester.

"Oh, Will, I'm so sorry," she stammers, her face bright red. Will just looks surprised.

"Are you okay, Em?" He's started calling her Em the majority of the time, now, and though she's mooned over how he pronounces it and the warmth in his voice when he says it, today she's too distraught to get any pleasure out of meeting him or listening to his voice.

"Um, well, Rachel just threw up, and I'm, I just really need to sit down –" The world starts to go white, and Will catches her, holding her up easily.

"Wow, yeah, come and sit down." He steers her into the teacher's lounge and hands her the hand sanitizer off the counter. She gratefully grips it, pumping about three times the normal amount into her hands, rubbing them compulsively.

He sets an orange soda in front of her. "I know, you normally don't drink this stuff, but it's really sugary and it'll help the head spins." He grins knowledgeably at her, and she manages a weak smile back.

"So, was she sick?" He sits in front of her, straddling a chair, his eyes on her face. She can tell that he's trying to take her mind off the almost-faint, but his gaze is really distracting, and she has to drop her eyes to answer.

"She's decided she might want to try bulimia on for size."

Will's eyes widen. "What?" He clears his throat, pushing a hand through his hair. "Emma, she's barely got a hundred pounds on her!"

Emma sips the pop, feeling more clear-headed with every sip. Will was right; it does stop her head from spinning. "She doesn't think she's pretty. Will, if I had a nickel for every time a kid said that to me . . ."

"It's so sad." Will looks up at Emma, sighs. "She's close to you, too. Are you okay?"

"What?" Emma sips her pop again, blushing, her accent sounding through uncomfortably. "Why wouldn't I be okay?"

"Well . . . you are a little germaphobic."

"I'm just worried," Emma sighs, and knows it's true. "Should I tell her dads? I mean, I have no idea if this has happened before . . . she's always been a really healthy eater, nothing weird, no binging that I've seen . . ." If Emma was worried about Will wondering about how she knows all this, she doesn't have to worry – he doesn't ask.

"Yes. Tell her dads. Em, this is important. You would want to know this about your daughter."

Emma stands, feeling much better. "Thanks, Will. For the soda, and, you know, the advice." She grins at him, and he smiles back.

"Good luck."

//~//

Rachel is still groggy when Emma picks her up at three o'clock, but she's awake and sipping on a ginger ale.

"You ready, sweetheart?" Emma brushes a cool hand over Rachel's forehead and elicits a smile out of the girl.

"Yeah, I think so. I'm feeling better."

"Okay. Come on, let's get you home."

Rachel doesn't say anything the entire ride home, let alone providing an answer to any of Emma's carefully prepared questions. When they pull up in front of Rachel's home, Emma unbuckles her seatbelt at the same time Rachel takes hers off.

"Emma? What are you doing?" Rachel's face is still a little pale, but her expression is wary, and for a split second, Emma feels awful about what she's about to do. But she sets her jaw, looks Rachel in the eyes, and tells the truth.

"I need to talk to your dads about this."

Rachel's jaw drops. "No, Emma, please don't."

Emma shakes her head firmly. "Rachel, this is serious, okay? This did not happen in the privacy of my office, okay, I wasn't your guidance counsellor at the time that I caught you throwing up. Your parents need to be notified."

Rachel's face falls, her lips push forward into a hurt pout. "I thought you were my friend."

Emma walks around to the other side of the car, stops in front of Rachel, her face set. "I AM your friend, Rachel. I'm your friend because I care enough about you to do this." And with that, she begins to walk to towards Rachel's front door, causing the girl to run after her to catch up.

The house is hushed; somewhere towards the back, Emma can hear the sounds of a cello being played. Rachel kicks off her shoes and stomps angrily into the marbled front entrance way.

"Are you coming?" she snaps, and Emma winces a little at her tone.

"I'm right behind you."

Several rooms open off the foyer, and Rachel storms into one, momentarily blocking Emma's view. A man's sonorous voice sounds out. "Hey, Prima Donna. How was your day?"

A tall black man stands in front of Rachel when Emma steps into the room. There's a piano against the back corner, and beside it, a cello propped on the stand. Emma's eyebrows rise when she realizes that Rachel's father was playing a complicated Bach etude before she turns her attention back to the situation at hand.

"Hi, I'm David," says the man, coming forward, extending a hand. "I don't think we've met . . .?"

"I'm Emma Pillsbury," says Emma, her voice coming back to her momentarily. She shakes David's hand and the man smiles.

"Nice to meet you. Are you a friend of Rachel's?" He looks her up and down. "I love the shoes."

"Th-thank you," Emma stammers, momentarily thrown off-guard again by the compliment. "Actually, I'm Rachel's guidance counsellor. I came by to have a little chat with you about Rachel's progress lately."

David raises his eyebrows. "Well, the school year just started. My partner, Andrew, isn't home at the moment – he got stuck at the courthouse for a few hours; my trial ended early today."

"It's okay; I don't think this can wait."

Rachel's pout is huge and her glare could have shot daggers into Emma's heart. "Daddy, I think she should leave."

"Rach, manners, please." David turns towards his daughter, points towards the door. "I left a snack for you in the kitchen. Go and start your homework, please."

Rachel stares first at her father, then at Emma, and then turns and storms out, slamming the door behind her. David sighs, a long, amused sigh, and then turns back to Emma.

"You were saying?"

Emma perches on the corner of the sofa; David takes the opposite chair. "You should know, Mr. Berry, that I found Rachel throwing up in the bathroom at lunchtime today."

The man's face doesn't change. "Oh?"

"She wasn't ill." Emma clears her throat, twists her hands. "She was upset; she felt that she wasn't attractive enough to a boy in the Glee club."

David sighs again consideringly. "Did she say that?"

"She told me she was trying to lose weight; to be prettier. I think she wanted him to notice her for her looks as opposed to her personality."

David leans back in his chair. "You know, this has been a common theme with her since kindergarten. She tries to do too much; she tries to be too much to everyone. Sometimes I wonder if that was our fault."

Emma doesn't say anything, but keeps her eyes fixed on David.

"She's always wanted to be in the spotlight; always wanted to perform. We started her in the pageant circuit at six months old; she was always one of the winners. She has a smile to die for. She was a little brat, always screaming, crying, refusing to do her routines, but once she got up on that stage, she just shone, you know?" David's eyes shine with pride and Emma smiles with him.

"Afterwards, she'd lose all her adrenaline; we'd end up taking her back to the dressing room, stripping off her dress, changing her diaper and rocking her to sleep. She was a little angel then; it was so hard to believe she could be such a pill. She has this blanket . . . she cuddles with it when she's sad, but she doesn't ever talk about what's bothering her, anymore. She's always been a bit of a loner that way. I only know she's upset when she ends up throwing a fit about something unrelated, and then cuddling with that blanket on her bed."

Emma's eyes are teary. "Sounds like Rachel."

"She's just so intense. Not a lot of people like her; but I think they forget she has feelings behind all that outer confidence. She has needs, too. She needs a lot of attention. I didn't know she had a crush on a boy, but it makes me a little sad for her. Prima Donna . . . she's got so much emotion ahead of her."

David smiles. "Thank you for telling me. We'll have a chat with her; keep a better eye on her."

Emma stands. "I don't want to cause any trouble. I just am worried about her. She's so talented, and so beautiful, just the way she is."

David nods. "Why don't you go try to smooth things over with her before you go?"

Emma smiles, shakes his hand. "Thanks." She follows his pointing finger, listens to the cello start up again as she looks for Rachel.

She doesn't find Rachel in the kitchen, but it's not hard to find the girl's room – it's the one off the basement steps, right at the bottom of the stairs from the kitchen.

Rachel is curled up on her bed, her face tear-streaked, and in her hands, under her chin, is a wadded up blue-checked blanket. Rachel is running the satin fringe along her cheek, and every so often, a sniff can be heard.

Emma walks into the room, sits on the bed, not facing Rachel. Rachel clears her throat, her voice thick.

"Well, did you tell him?"

"I did," replies Emma, smoothing the covers of Rachel's bed. "He's concerned, Rach; we all are."

"It's nothing to be concerned about. I'm fine."

Emma turns to Rachel, looks at the defensive girl in front of her. "No, sweetie, throwing up to be thin is not fine. It's a stepping stone to a very serious problem."

Rachel's face crumples then. "I know. I just . . . I just want him to like me."

Emma scootches up onto the bed; she puts an arm around Rachel, drawing the girl into a hug, letting her cry for a moment into the old blue blanket, rubbing her back.

"Maybe he likes you already for just being you. For shining, and for singing, and for having so many great ideas and a wonderful smile."

Rachel sniffles, tries to smile. "Really?"

Emma winks. "Maybe."

Rachel leans against Emma, sighing shakily. "It's been a tough day."

Emma cuddles Rachel close. "Yeah. But now, you can move on, right?"

Rachel finally smiles, this time for real.

"Right."


	4. Chapter 4

The hot summer faded quickly this year, Emma found, and soon enough, the leaves start to turn colours on the trees and the air is nippy in the mornings. The change in the air makes Emma crave the warmth that's leaving for another year. She spends an entire Saturday organizing her clothing before she gives up and texts Rachel's cell phone.

About that: Emma's not into texting. She rarely uses her cell phone and keeps it mostly for emergencies. But she had given Rachel her cell for emergencies, against her better judgement, and the girl began to text her every so often, often from class (much to Emma's annoyance). So she fell into the habit of texting back on weekends, and now Emma sees Rachel about once every weekend, for ice cream, or coffee, or just to hang out.

Emma doesn't want to admit it, but she likes the interaction as much as Rachel does, and looks forward to Saturday afternoons as well as the Tuesday appointments which still happen faithfully once a week, even now, going into the end of September.

Rachel appears at Emma's doorstep with a bottle of strawberry lemonade from the grocery store's specialty section. "Hi, Emma!"

Emma loves the way that Rachel is always so happy to see her. Today, the girl's smooth brown hair is held into place by a red hair band. She wears a pair of jeans, a red hoodie and a striped shirt underneath. And she sweeps inside, putting the bottle down, and impulsively hugs Emma, the way she does every time she sees the counsellor outside of school.

Emma doesn't like to be touched, as a rule. She prefers to keep people at arm's length; they carry germs and diseases she'd rather not be exposed to. But all bets are off with Rachel – the girl seems to crave touch and affection. Already an extremely demonstrative person, she is always touching arms and clapping people on the shoulder, or grabbing people's hands impulsively.

So, now when Rachel hugs her, laying her head for a moment on Emma's shoulder, Emma doesn't feel panicky, because she's used to it. And as she holds the girl close, she realizes that she needs the touch as much as Rachel does.

Stroking back Rachel's hair, Emma smiles down at her. "How are you doing, Rach?"

"Great!" Rachel detaches herself from Emma and picks up her lemonade, a flavour they both like and that Rachel never forgets to bring over. "I brought our favourite!"

Emma takes the bag and looks meaningfully at Rachel. "Shoes, please."

"Oops, sorry!" Rachel removes her shoes and places them on the mat by the door. "And hands, too, right?"

"Yes . . . thanks, Rach." Emma feels slightly ashamed, but she gets hyper-vigilant when it comes time for flu season. Already, she's spent a couple of hours a week thoroughly disinfecting her office – and Rachel, noticing Emma's discomfort with the amount of sneezes and sniffs she hears on a daily basis, has started carrying hand sanitizer around.

She pulls it out now and squirts some into her hands, offering it to Emma for good measure. Emma takes some and rubs her own hands, and out of nowhere, Rachel giggles, her laugh like bells on the air.

Emma smiles. "What's funny?"

"I never thought I'd be this concerned with clean hands," says Rachel, and then winks. "It's probably a good thing."

Emma clears her throat, embarrassed. "Why don't you go and put the lemonade in the fridge? I'm just organizing some clothes, wanted some company."

"You are?" Rachel's face lights up. "I love your clothes. Can I help you?"

Emma looks uncomfortable again and Rachel's face falls a little. "I won't touch them; I just wanted to see them."

"You can help," decides Emma, and smiles. "I could use some opinions on what I need to buy this fall."

As they sort clothing, Rachel chatters about Glee. "Mr. Schuester seems to know what he's doing musically, but I highly doubt he can properly choreograph a number. And I'm getting awfully tired of him giving solos to the other girls. I think I've clearly demonstrated that I'm the best singer we have, and we're not going to get to Regionals unless he lets me sing!"

Though Rachel's voice is pretentious and over-confident, Emma hears the hurt behind it, and after folding a skirt thoughtfully over a hanger, she answers Rachel.

"I don't think it's that he wants to exclude you, sweetie. I think it's that he feels that everyone should have a chance to sing. You wouldn't have gotten any better at singing if no one had given you a chance to do it, right?"

Rachel rolls her eyes at Emma. "I have a voice teacher. My dads make sure I have the best."

"Yes, but not everyone has that kind of privilege."

Rachel looks uncomfortable and wrong-footed for a moment, and Emma tries to change the subject. "Anyway, you haven't told me what you're singing with Glee lately. I haven't heard anything from Mr. Schuester about your latest set list."

Rachel flops back onto Emma's bed and Emma inwardly rolls her eyes and makes a mental note to straighten the covers.

"I don't even know what we'll be singing. I'm sort of tired of Glee lately. I thought . . ."

"What did you think?"

"I thought I'd have more of a chance to be the star, I guess. I mean, some of the kids have good voices, but I know I'm the strongest singer. I thought I'd make more friends; they'd like me more because I was so good, you know?"

Emma puts down the skirt and climbs up next to Rachel on the bed. Almost immediately, Rachel moves closer to Emma, leaning her head on Emma's shoulder. Emma puts her arms around Rachel and kisses the top of her head.

"I hear a lot of hurt, Rach, and I think that this really isn't about how much you get to sing, is it?" Emma strokes Rachel's hair and Rachel closes her eyes for a moment, enjoying the feeling of Emma's sensitive fingers on her scalp.

"I guess not. I guess I hoped people would like me more . . . for me." Rachel sighs, moves her legs restlessly on the bed.

"They will. But, sweetie, you come across as a little, um, strong, sometimes," says Emma tentatively, trying not to be too harsh with Rachel. However, Rachel sits up, her back straight, her eyes snapping a little.

"I'm not too strong! I just am right about this, that's all, and no one wants to listen to that!"

Emma sighs, reaching for calm. "Actually, Rachel, I'm pretty sure that most of what I do is listen to you and your opinions."

Rachel stares at Emma for a moment, and then sighs. "No, you're right, that's true." She leans back against Emma, and picks up one of Emma's hands, looking it over, turning it over to look at the palm. "Your hands are so soft. I'm surprised, because you use so much hand sanitizer."

Emma smiles. "I have a nice moisturizer." She turns her hand over again, examines it. "Have you ever had your palm read?"

Rachel grins. "Once at the state fair." She takes Emma's hand again and looks at it closely, her finger tracing the lines. "I don't really know what all the lines mean, but apparently I'm supposed to fall in love and have three children." Rachel giggles, the laugh reverberating through her chest, and Emma laughs, too.

Rachel squeezes Emma's hand and Emma smiles, looking down at the profile of the girl leaning against her chest.

"Why don't we watch a movie or something? I'm tired of sorting clothing for today."

Rachel rifles through Emma's movie collection while Emma pours the chilled lemonade into some juice glasses and sets some cookies on a plate. "I made these yesterday," she calls to Rachel, who grins through the look-through in the kitchen wall.

"Do they have chocolate in them?"

"Of course," Emma winks, and Rachel grins again.

"I want to watch this one." She holds up Emma's copy of "My Fair Lady" and smiles. "I love this movie."

Emma grins back. "You know I'm always up for 'My Fair Lady', Rach."

They settle on the couch, Rachel holding the remote, and when the opening strains of music come on, Rachel settles back into Emma, pulling the blanket over them both. Emma, always used to watching movies alone, had to get used to Rachel's constant cuddling. But so far, she hasn't wanted to push Rachel away, yet – she's only felt honoured to have the girl's full attention and affection, even if Rachel can be extremely hard to deal with and emotionally draining.

The movie goes on – Emma remains enthralled, until she happens to look down at Rachel, whose eyes are closed, her mouth twitching a little in sleep, one hand clinging to the blanket, the other to Emma's sweater, and she smiles, holding Rachel a little closer.

No, she wouldn't trade this for anything.

//~//

As the weeks pass, Emma begins to hear more and more about Finn Hudson, both from Will and from Rachel. When the announcement comes out that Finn's girlfriend, Quinn, is pregnant, Will immediately rushes into her office to tell her the secret.

"I know it seems stupid, Em, but I just feel horrible for the kid."

"It's not an easy situation, that's for sure." Emma settles back in her chair, holding her white teacup, and smiles tentatively. "But he's lucky."

Will is adjusting his shoelaces and looks up, confused and slightly red-faced. "Why is he lucky? He's sixteen and about to become a father. And it's too bad, too. The kid has amazing talent, he could really go far."

Emma purses her lips in slight annoyance. "Well, what I meant was, he's lucky because he has, um, he has you. Your support. You know, a boy really needs a father at a time like this." Her face blushes red as Will looks amused.

"I don't know if I'm really a father figure to the kid. I do my best to provide support in an appropriate way." He pauses. "I do see a lot of myself in him, though. He's trying really hard to do the right thing. Sixteen is a really hard age."

Without thinking, Emma agrees. "Yes, it is. I mean, they're full of hormones, they don't have parental figures to help them . . . sometimes they just need a hug, I guess that's what we're there for."

Will looks at her quizzically. "Uh, okay, I guess so." He clears his throat. "Look, Em, do you have any advice? I just don't know how to deal with it. And I don't want it to get out in the Glee club."

Emma looks at Will from under her eyelashes, sighs. "I don't know, Will. Seems to me they've got to work it out for themselves. But maybe I can talk to Finn. He's got to be feeling pretty wrong-footed right now."

Will looks relieved. "Yeah, okay, I'll tell him you want to see him."

Emma plays with the ring on her finger for a moment, then ventures, "How's Glee?"

Will runs a hand through his hair. "Ugh. Rachel Berry is driving me nuts. Can you believe that she had the audacity to complain in front of Tina because I gave Tina her first solo? Tina looked so upset, and Rachel just stormed out, like the five-year-old she is."

The scorn in Will's voice causes Emma to get defensive. "Will, come on. She's not a five-year-old. She's not even sixteen yet. She just . . . feels things really strongly."

"Well, she can learn some humility, because she's not going to be the only one getting to sing. I have twelve kids to help. It's not all about her."

Emma swallows down her retort and tries to keep calm. "I understand that you find her frustrating, but she really depends on Glee, Will."

Will looks at Emma out of curiosity. "How do you know all this?"

"I've seen her once a week for a year. You don't think she doesn't tell me how she feels about things like this?"

"Well, I'm sorry, Emma, but I can't show favouritism to one student. She's going to have to learn that other kids get a chance, too." He stands up. "Look, thanks for your help with Finn."

Emma's face softens. "Just doing my job," she says softly, shyly, and Will smiles down at her.

"You do a great job." He snakes a hand across the table to rest on her sleeve, and she feels a frisson of excitement flash through her. "Listen, meet me in the lunch room? I'd love to have coffee, relax a little. Two o'clock?"

Emma blushes. "Sure, um, I mean, yeah, I think I have a free moment then." She curses herself inwardly for stammering and he smiles.

"Okay, it's a date."

When he leaves, Emma brings Finn's schedule up on her computer and places a call down to his math teacher.

"Can you send Finn Hudson up to see me?"

At the teacher's affirmative, Emma gets up to scrub down her bookshelves and wait for Finn.

//~//

Finn Hudson is a huge boy – it's no wonder he's the star player of the football team. As he steps into Emma's office, he knocks over one of her plants and falls a little against her freshly Windexed door.

"Sorry, Ms. Pillsbury." His voice is sheepish, and Emma smiles at him encouragingly.

"It's okay, Finn. Sit down."

He does, and looks at her out of confused brown eyes. "Am I in trouble?"

Emma clears her throat, shakes her head. "Absolutely not. I'm just concerned about you, Finn . . . I've been looking over your grades, and I'm a little concerned that you haven't come to see me about career pathing or really anything to do with your future."

"Am I failing?" Finn's voice goes up in panic at the end, and Emma inwardly rolls her eyes, reaches for calm.

"No, you're not failing. In fact, you're doing quite well, especially in music." She turns her screen to show him. "You've got quite a leg up in extra curriculars, and you could try for a music scholarship, especially if the Glee club does well." She folds her hands, looks at him. "And from what I hear, you guys are doing really well so far."

"Well, a lot of that is Rachel Berry," he replies, crossing his legs. "She really carries us. But, Ms. Pillsbury," - his voice goes up in panic again – "Can we still do well if she leaves?"

"Who says she's leaving?" Emma's confused – this is the first that she's heard about Rachel actually wanting to quit Glee.

"Well, she does," replies Finn. "And I don't think we can win without her. She's really good."

"Finn, I'm concerned about your future right now . . . and those that may be a part of your future soon," she finishes in a rush, and watches the boy's smooth forehead wrinkle in a frown.

"Has someone told you something about my personal life?"

"Of course not," says Emma hurriedly, and reaches to change the subject. "I'm concerned about all the students I see, Finn. And I think that if you want to try for this scholarship, you need to convince Rachel she needs to stay."

"So you don't think we'll make it without her?"

"I didn't say that. I do, however, think that she's very talented and it can only help the club if she stays."

Emma doesn't let on that she actually has an ulterior motive, and that's to keep Rachel as happy as possible. She's seen her attitude change since she's been in Glee club, and she wants to make sure that Rachel keeps smiling.

"Well, okay, then, I can do it. I can talk to her."

"Great!" Emma beams at Finn and as he smiles back at her, she suddenly discovers why Rachel likes him so much.

He leaves her office and she goes to right the plant, taking her Windex with her, happy with the meeting as it went. She straightens her back and sets to scrubbing the door again, happily humming a tune under her breath.

//~//

Emma is sitting quietly at home when her phone rings. It's Rachel.

"Emma?" Rachel's voice is full of tears, and Emma's heart immediately goes out to her.

"What happened, Rachel? Are you okay?"

"No." Rachel coughs a little, her voice thick. "I'm quitting Glee. I'm tired of being overlooked."

"Rachel –"

"Don't try to talk me out of it. I'm tired of Mr. Schuester treating me like crap. And I'm tired of all the other kids hating me. I'm just tired of it."

"Sweetheart . . . is this wise?"

"I don't care if it's wise! I'm sick of trying to be liked and trying to better myself. My dreams are bigger than some high school club. I don't need Glee. And I don't care."

"Then why are you so upset?"

Rachel doesn't say anything for a few moments, and then her voice comes again, smaller.

"Bye, Emma."

The click of the phone sounds loudly in Emma's ear. She sighs, puts the phone back on the table, and wonders what Rachel isn't telling her.

//~//

The next day, she hears from Will that Rachel's left Glee to join Sandy Ryerson's musical production of Cabaret.

"Wait – I thought Sandy wasn't allowed back on campus?"

"Apparently, Sue Sylvester got him back on. I don't know how, either. She's probably got something on him." Will sighs, kicks at Emma's desk leg. "I'm so tired of trying to please everyone. I just wanted to run Glee, make it great again."

Emma's face is sympathetic. "Will, you are running Glee – you're doing so much for those kids."

"And I'm fighting every step of the way!" He stands up, starts pacing around her office. "This was supposed to be fun. It practically eats up my entire life, and it's starting to ruin my marriage. My wife is . . ." He trails off at Emma's shocked expression. "Sorry."

"No, no, of course, you can tell me your problems, that's my job, I'm a guidance counsellor . . ." She trails off, too, and they're left staring at each other. Emma clears her throat.

"Listen, Will, I know now that you've lost Rachel, it's going to be harder . . ."

"Yes, it is. And maybe I shouldn't be so angry at her, but she's so dismissive and unemotional about it. Like she didn't care at all. And I thought she cared as much as I did about this group, about this competition." He looks down at his hands. "I guess I'm better off. It's at least been calmer at practice, though Quinn Fabray won't stop upchucking long enough to learn the runs for 'Don't Stop Believing'."

"I'm sorry, Will."

"Well, actually, I have a plan. I need you to look up a student for me." He leans forward, locks his eyes with hers, and she gives him a tentative smile.

"Anything for you." She winces after that; it sounds so desperate, but he doesn't seem to have heard her.

"April Rhodes?" Her voice goes up at the end. "Wasn't she a student here like fifteen years ago? I saw her name on the Glee trophy in the north case."

"Yeah, she was, but she was amazing, Emma. And I know she never graduated. She could be the star that replaces Rachel."

Emma lets the Rhodes file drop back into the file case at that. "Look, Will, I could lose my job for this. Not to mention that maybe what you should be focusing on is getting Rachel back. You know, instead of trying to replace her with someone who's at least five years older than you or me, let alone the kids."

"I don't want to focus on getting Rachel back. I want to focus on getting the Glee club together again." He takes the file from her hands and opens it. "I knew it! She's three credits shy of graduation."

Emma watches Will as he opens his laptop and sighs loudly, trying to get his attention. "Will, this isn't a good idea. And you need to focus on what's best for the kids right now."

But he isn't listening, and she suddenly just stops trying. What does she care if Will pays attention to her or not?

But she does care, and it makes it that much harder when he squeals at finding April Rhodes on MySpace.

"Here she is!"

"Will, I – "

"Em, can you write this down? 35 BonTempo Road . . ."

"Between two and three," she reads out. "Bring buffalo wings."

He grins at her and she sighs inwardly, knowing she's lost.

//~//

Emma runs into Rachel after school. "Hey, Rach."

"Ms. Pillsbury." Rachel's voice is cold, and Emma suddenly feels hurt. What has she done to deserve this?

"Rachel, what's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing. Just that you've been encouraging Mr. Schuester and Finn Hudson to try to get me back to Glee. Why, Emma?" Rachel's face has a hurt expression. "I thought you cared about my dreams."

Emma suddenly feels a wave of emotion and exhaustion break over her. She's just not in the mood for this. "Rachel, though you think the world, and I, are against you, it's really not the case. I think Glee is good for you. You are happy there. That's why I talked to them."

"Well, you overstepped a line." Rachel's voice is angry, and she starts walking fast in the other direction, but not fast enough that Emma can't keep up.

"Rachel, maybe I did overstep a line. I'm sorry. But I thought, as a friend – "

"Wasn't it you who didn't want us to be friends in the first place?" Rachel's eyes are snapping. "Look, you've already delved enough into my personal life. Why don't you lay off? Just leave me alone."

She leaves Emma standing beside the parking lot, watching her stalk off.

And though Emma has promised herself that she won't let the children she deals with get to her, her eyes well up with hurt tears and blur out the retreating figure of Rachel Berry.

So this is why they told her never to get close to her students.

It hurts too much.


	5. Chapter 5

In a way, it was freeing. Emma was able to get up in the morning and shower leisurely without looking at her phone, waiting for Rachel's morning text; she was able to go through her day without having to worry about finding a crying teenager in the bathroom or listen to Rachel's occasionally inane chatter over lunch. She was enjoying her freedom, sure; but one thing marred it.

Emma couldn't stop thinking about Rachel.

She found out from Will that Rachel had left Glee. Though Will thought it was another classic storm out, this time Rachel was apparently serious. She hadn't spoken to any of the Glee club since last week, and rumour had it that she had the lead in Sandy Ryerson's dubious version of Cabaret.

Emma was happy, sort of; she knew Rachel didn't always feel challenged with Will's group. But thinking about it now, cupping her silver and white cup of morning coffee and waiting, as usual, for her Tuesday appointment with Rachel, she feels sort of sick inside. The Glee club is the closest Rachel has to actual friends. The fact that she's rejecting everyone in her life right now worries Emma more than she's let on to Will, or to herself.

Truth be told, Emma misses Rachel. And despite her outward professionalism, her careful adjusting of the papers on her desk and the gentle nudging of things into place, she has one eye trained on the clock – she's waiting for the bouncy sophomore to come through the door.

The seconds tick on; Emma busies herself with her computer, checking emails, even smiling wryly at a strange forward from Figgins (for a guy who's so obsessed with propriety, he certainly does send the oddest and not exactly work-safe forwards). But ten o'clock comes, and goes, and at 10:05 Emma puts down her pen and peers out the door, looking both ways in concern for the brown-haired girl with the big voice.

But she's nowhere in sight. Emma's secretary stares at her in confusion, and Emma manages a smile and ducks back into her office, busying herself with a Word document and notes, figuring Rachel's just late.

However, at the end of the period, the bell sounds and Rachel still hasn't shown up.

When Emma leaves her office for a quick bathroom break, she sees Rachel walking purposefully down the hall. She meets Emma's eyes, and then turns away.

Emma hurries into the bathroom, sits on the toilet, and buries her face in her hands.

Yeah, it might be freeing, but it's not easy.

//~//

"So she just didn't show up?" Will is talking with his mouth full and Emma's trying not to gag. She averts her eyes and takes a cautious sip of her water, willing her gag reflex to behave itself. When she looks up again, Will has swallowed his food and is looking at her expectantly.

"No, she didn't." Emma's voice is marred by a heavy sigh, and Will looks concerned. She shrugs. "I suppose it doesn't matter, really."

"No, I guess kids blow off appointments." His hand snakes across the table, touches her sleeve. "I'm sorry, anyway. I know you were making progress."

Emma shrugs it off. "What about Glee? Has she shown up there?"

Will shakes his head, his mouth full of sandwich again. This time, Emma very purposefully and obviously averts her eyes, and he smiles sheepishly as he swallows. "Sorry. No, she hasn't. I think she's really quit for good."

"I heard Sandy's over the moon about her. Says she's the best voice he's heard in ten years."

"Well, he's right." Will takes a sip of his soda and sighs. "Rachel is amazing. And I'm not going to deny that I'm having trouble with the club without her. Between Quinn Fabray running out between measures to throw up and the fact that I can barely hear Tina most days over Mercedes, the whole dynamic is off."

"Well, have you talked to her about coming back?"

"Yeah, but she's not interested. She was pretty rude. And really, sometimes I get too frustrated to care. She's so hard to deal with, Em."

"I'm inclined to agree, but I still . . . I don't know, Will. Behind all that prickliness is a very hurt, lonely girl. And I know what that's like," she murmurs, averting her eyes from his concerned gaze.

"I'm going to give her one last chance. But honestly, Em, I think she's made her choice."

"Did you ever get ahold of that April person?"

Will looks cagey. "Yes, actually. She's due to come into the school today, show the kids what she's got. I'm really hoping she'll be able to pull the club back together."

He wipes his hands with his napkin and she passes him her pocket antibacterial gel. As he takes it, his hazel eyes find hers again and she feels a small flutter in her stomach.

"How are things going with Ken?"

She'd started dating Ken Tanaka two weeks ago. So far, it's been nothing short of absolutely awful, but she isn't about to tell Will that. Telling Will how she wants to cry every time she looks at Ken's sweaty face is not going to help anything. But she finds herself babbling, trying to overcompensate, and she's not sure that's any better.

"Fine, fine, it's great, it's wonderful. Ken's a great man, he's very sweet. We went to the flower show at the convention centre and he bought me a lovely orchid."

Will actually looks pleased. "That's great, Em!"

"You know, he has flaws; he has seventy-four flaws since yesterday that I've counted, but I'm happy, I am. I'm happy with it." She tries to stop herself from cringing at this; his gaze doesn't waver, but something deep down in his eyes shines tellingly at her and she knows without a doubt that he's aware she's lying.

So instead of coming clean, she stands up. "I've gotta go. Appointments this afternoon. Good luck with April!"

If he's surprised at her cheery tone, he doesn't show it. "Thanks, Emma. I'll let you know how things go."

She clacks quickly out of the teacher's lounge and closes the door behind her, breathing out in relief, when she turns smack into a small, bleach-blonde woman with orange skin and a distinctive odour of ten-year-old Chablis that's been left out in the sun too long.

"Excuse-excuse me," Emma stutters, automatically reaching for her hand sanitizer, but the woman is too busy giving her the once over to notice the apology.

"Don't got much on top, do ya?" Her strident voice is brassy, overconfident, and has a grating note in it that makes Emma want to cover her ears.

"If I'da been a little taller, maybe these would have balanced out." She squeezes her ample chest together, increasing the amount of cleavage showing tenfold. Emma's face is frozen in a mask of embarrassment when the woman brushes by her again, almost knocking her off her feet.

"I've gotta find the choir room or something. Do you know a Will Schuester? I'm looking for the show choir practice."

April Rhodes (because this is who this obviously is, Emma has guessed by now), turns back, her sharp profile illuminated against the fluorescent lights of the school. "On second thought, I'll find it myself. You look like you're gonna pee your pants or something."

Emma finds her voice. "It's down the hall, to the left. And April?"

April looks surprised, but stops and looks at Emma curiously.

"We've got a dress code in this school. If you like, I'd be happy to take you through our orientation package later this afternoon."

"No, sweetie, that's okay." April's braying laugh echoes off the cinderblock walls of the school and Emma once again has to suppress the desire to cover her ears. "I think I'm doing just fine."

Emma watches April totter down the hallway and feels an overwhelming sense of foreboding. If this is what the Glee club is coming to, maybe Rachel is better out of it.

//~//

Later that afternoon, Emma is locking up her office when she hears a swelling, sweet, high voice coming from the direction of the music room. The voice is strong and measured; it's the trained voice of a coloratura soprano and despite her will to stay away from Glee while April is a part of it, she finds herself wandering down the music corridor to listen outside the door.

April's performing a fine rendition of "Maybe This Time" and Emma's enthralled; in fact, she's so engaged that she doesn't notice the slight, dark-haired girl standing on the other side of the door, her back against the lockers and her hands shoved deep into her skirt pockets.

It takes Emma a moment, but she registers Rachel's direct gaze and despite herself, she swallows nervously.

"Hi, Rach."

Rachel doesn't reply for a moment; she cocks her head inquisitively, as if measuring the purity of April's notes on the air. When April finishes the song, Rachel focuses on Emma.

"I sang this yesterday, in the auditorium. She's got a nice technique but her high notes are too airy."

"How are you enjoying Cabaret?"

Rachel tosses her hair. "It's a nice challenge. I feel like I'm actually being appreciated there; did you know Mr. Ryerson offered me the lead immediately on hearing me sing the Celine Dion ballad that I've been practicing for the last five years?"

Emma is at a loss for words. Rachel's voice is cold; her body language forbidding. "I did hear you were his first choice to play Sally Bowles."

"Yes, well. I suppose he'd heard me outside this music room, the same as you and I are doing now." Rachel turns, but not before Emma catches the hurt look on her face. "I see Mr. Schuester's found a new lead soprano."

"Yes, he has." Emma doesn't mince words. "You refused to come back, Rachel. He needs a strong voice for Sectionals."

"Oh, I'm not offended, not in the least!" Rachel's affected laugh echoes off the metal of the lockers and Emma just feels sad. This cold girl is so removed from the warm, laughing, sweet and funny Rachel she's spent all summer with.

"In fact, I'm glad; let someone else learn to perfect their technique with the easier stuff. I heard this woman's old, anyway. She can probably teach those tone-deaf kids a thing or two, and I can focus on what I really want."

Emma leans up against the lockers, her eyes fixed on Rachel's. "What is it you really want, Rach?"

For the first time, Rachel looks into Emma's eyes, and the sheer desperation there almost makes Emma catch her breath. "You know what I want."

She clears her throat, her face closing. "Anyway, Mr. Ryerson is doing a stellar job; we have our artistic differences of course, but who doesn't with any director?"

Rachel turns, her hair swirling behind her. "See you around, Miss Pillsbury."

Just then, April bursts out of the choir room, face red with effort, eyes glittering with the effects of alcohol and horse tranquilizers. "I need to PEE, woman! Get out of my way!"

Rachel steps back, looking on in unadulterated distaste before she catches Emma's eye and walks away briskly, not looking back.

Emma watches her go, feeling a sheer sort of longing and hurt start up in her chest.

She's not sure why this girl should matter so much, but she does.

//~//

Another week passes and April's behaviour gets no better. Five times, Emma's passed her in the hallway and smelled the disgusting scent of vomit and vodka mixed in with some acidic, astringent perfume that April insists on wearing. After the fourth time of hearing a strange clinking coming from April's bag, Emma pulls Will aside.

"Look, Will, I need to talk to you about April."

"Em, can it wait? I've really got to get to work choreographing this number. Invitationals are in another week and the dancing is so choppy I'm getting seasick just looking at the kids."

Ken wasn't much help, either. "Em, nearly everyone at this school has some kind of weird addiction or mental illness. This woman is legal and she's only here to pick up extra credits anyway. Who cares?"

The final straw comes on a warm Tuesday afternoon. Emma's wearing her new shoes (red T-strap sandals, probably the last time she'll get to wear them this year) and her favourite green cardigan. On her way to her office, she spots Kurt Hummel ambling down the hallway, his normally impeccable outfit rumpled and stained.

She nods politely at him, but his darkly-circled eyes and pale face make her stop to peer at him more closely. "Kurt?"

He doesn't answer, but blinks owlishly at her, trying to focus.

"Kurt, I'm a girl who knows her solvents, and you smell like rubbing alcohol," Emma says, looking intently into his face. "Have you been drinking?"

Kurt tries and fails to focus on Emma's brown eyes. "Oh, Bambi. I cried so hard when those hunters shot your mommy."

"What?"

Kurt opens his mouth to answer her, but pitches forward, vomiting copiously and spectacularly over Emma's grey pencil skirt and new shoes. She feels the disgusting warmth of the boy's stomach liquid washing over the bare parts of her feet and swallows hard (and unsuccessfully) against the wave of vomit threatening to exit her own body.

Instead of throwing up, though, she begins to panic, her chest swelling, her throat closing. She grabs wildly at the lockers, but feels herself blacking out.

The last thing she remembers is someone strong supporting her back as she passes out, and the concerned eyes of Rachel Berry looking down at her before she completely loses consciousness.

//~//

Emma comes to in the nurse's office, her stomach heaving. A basin is quickly placed under her chin and she throws up, her eyes squeezing shut, tears leaking down her face.

When she's finished, she opens her eyes to find Finn Hudson sitting beside her, Rachel standing by the door, and the concerned face of Mrs. Ellesmere two inches from Emma's face.

"It's okay, sweetheart. You should feel better in a few minutes." The craggy voice of the eighty-year-old school nurse reminds Emma of her grandmother and she lays back on the paper-covered pillow, her face pale and sweaty, and her mascara running in black rivulets down her face.

"I need to go to the hospital," she whispers, but the nurse shakes her head reassuringly.

"No, Emma, it's okay. You're not sick; you just passed out. You're going to feel better as soon as you drink some juice."

"No, Mrs. Ellesmere, she really does need to go to the hospital. She has mysophobia." The quiet voice of Rachel Berry echoes through the room, and Finn looks up at her, confused.

"What does that even mean? Is Miss Pillsbury going to die?"

Rachel opens her mouth, but Emma shakes her head. "No, Finn, it just means I need to . . . clean up. With stronger disinfectants than the ones under your mom's sink." She struggles up, her head spinning, and remembers that her new shoes are ruined by stomach acids. Emma begins to cry then, her head pounding with each sob.

"I need to go. Someone needs to call an ambulance, now!"

Rachel immediately grabs the phone from the nurse's hand and dials. "It's okay, Emma. We'll get you cleaned up."

The ambulance arrives at the back school doors during fourth period and Emma is able to go to the hospital without much drama, but Rachel stays put, framed in the school doors, watching Emma with concern.

As the ambulance drives away, she sees Rachel turn into the school, her back straight, her hair swirling around her, and Emma closes her eyes for the rest of the ride.

//~//

Two days later, after an angry confrontation with Will in the staff room which led to Emma locking herself in a bathroom stall for an hour to cry it out, Emma is once again in the bathroom when she hears an angry banging of the door and the raspy sobs of a very upset young girl start up by the sinks.

She's about to step out, but the door bangs again and the three-inch heels of April Rhodes make their customary clack on the lino floor. The water slams on and April's brassy voice echoes around the bathroom.

"Rough day at the office, cookie?"

Rachel's teary, sniffly voice makes itself heard, the words clipped in indignation. "I know what you are, April. Everyone knows what you are. You're a drunk and an addict and you don't deserve to be in Glee."

"Oh, stop," says April, her voice bored. "You had your chance, sweetheart, and you gave it up. Not to mention, I hear you and Sandy Ryerson are having your own tiff and he's just about ready to kick you out of the show. Then what?"

Her heels make a loud clack on the floor as she draws herself up to her full height. "You haven't got anything, now. You've given up your chance in Glee and now you've stepped in it with Cabaret. Better quit while you're ahead, cookie. Not to mention? The grandma look is doing NOTHING for you."

April's voice fades as she gets closer to the door. "Oh, and you might want to practice your head voice a little more. Those high notes could shred an entire school textbook in one go. Sha-arp," April trills, and the bathroom door bangs shut behind her.

Through the crack in the door, Emma watches Rachel completely fall apart. She sinks to her knees, her hands flying up to cover her face, and Emma finally can't hide anymore. She comes out of the stall, washes her hands, and then kneels down beside Rachel, hugging her tightly.

Rachel stays stiff and cold for a moment, but Emma's warm hands on her back quickly melt her facade. She turns into Emma, sobbing into her shoulder, and Emma draws them both to a standing position, letting Rachel rest her head on Emma's collarbone.

"Shh, sweetheart, it's okay. Don't let her get to you. Don't let her ruin your fun, okay?"

"It's not fun anymore," Rachel hiccups, and scrubs her face angrily with a Kleenex. "I hate Cabaret. Mr. Ryerson is so mean, and now I can't go back to Glee, and I just hate it. I'm just . . . lonely, and sad, and I don't want to be mad at you anymore, Emma."

Rachel's refreshing honesty is like a balm to Emma's emotional scars, and she holds Rachel tighter. "Well, I don't want you to be mad at me anymore, either."

"I want to go back to Glee," Rachel whispers, and Emma rubs her back, nodding against Rachel's dark hair.

"I know, sweetie. I think you should talk to Mr. Schuester."

Rachel shakes her head. "He won't take me back. I was rude to him, and to everyone, and I don't deserve it anyway." She draws herself up to a standing position and tries to smile at Emma. "I did this. And I guess I'll have to live with it. There is always community choir."

She washes her hands and face at the sink, then turns back to Emma. "Thanks, Emma. I'm sorry I was such a snot to you. You've always been so nice to me, and I was so mean to you."

Emma watches Rachel walk out of the bathroom and turns to the mirror, wiping a few tears of her own off her cheeks.

At least now she knows where she stands with Rachel – and where she can convince Will to take the girl back.

//~//

Invitationals dawns with a rainy day. Emma puts on her favourite red dress for colour and fun and hopes the rain will stop before it comes time for the kids to sing. She knows the turnout will be small if it's pouring.

Luckily, it's just overcast when the first people start trickling into the auditorium. Emma goes out to the parking lot to help direct people to the right place when she just about gets knocked off her feet by a careening dark-green sedan with more rust than paint on it.

April Rhodes gets out, her bright pink costume a splash of colour against the grey evening. "Hey, Ems! Nice dress!"

Emma can smell the alcohol from ten feet away. "April, are you drunk?"

"Oh, when am I not?" The petite woman waves her hand dismissively. "I got a show to put on. Paying customers and all. Why don't you go and make sure the Kool-Aid's poured out or whatever?" She pushes past Emma, banging into the door jamb, and that's when Emma loses her temper.

Storming up to Will backstage, her voice blows out angrily. "Will, April just about hit me in the parking lot just now. She's drunker than I've ever seen her. You can't let her go on!"

Will looks pained and annoyed. "Emma, I know you're pushing this Rachel thing hard, but we are about to go on in ten minutes. You'd like me to pull the star of the show now?"

"Yes!" Emma's face is becoming as red as her hair and she takes a few breaths to calm herself. "Yes, Will. You would agree with me if it was an athlete, or a drama student. If you're indulging in illegal substances – and I'm pretty sure April's on speed tonight – you're not allowed to go on. You know that's the right thing to do."

"And who's going to take over? Rachel? She hasn't been a part of the club for a month, Emma. Not even she can learn a number in five minutes." He turns his back to her. "April's going on. I don't care what you tell Figgins after this, but the show must go on!"

Emma throws up her hands. "Fine. Fine, Will. Promote your . . . illegality, and I'll turn a blind eye. Again. But after tonight I'm telling Figgins. This is ridiculous."

She storms back into the auditorium, finding a seat near the back, crossing her legs primly under her skirt and trying to calm down. Just as the curtain goes up, she catches the spotlight washing over the small figure of Rachel Berry to the right of the stage, gazing up at the lights and set with wistful eyes.

April performs admirably, but when intermission comes, she's clearly unable to stand up straight. Emma watches her totter offstage, holding onto the strong arm of Noah Puckerman, and wonders if Will can justify sending someone so drunk they could pass out any minute for the second act.

Rachel comes to sit on the edge of the seat beside Emma, and Emma squeezes her hand. "I'm surprised you're here, Rach."

"Well, I wouldn't miss it. I wanted to see how good April was." Rachel smiles, a little ruefully. "She's good."

"Have you talked to Mr. Schue yet?"

"After the show. Maybe he'll let me back in once they're starting to prepare for Sectionals."

Just then, Tina Cohen-Chang runs up, her stutter apparent in every word. "April's puking her guts out in the girls' bathroom. Mr. Schue won't let her go on for the second act. I have no idea what we're going to do, but she's gonna pass out."

Emma starts to get up, her face turning pale, but Rachel stops her with a hand on her knee. "I'll go on. That is, if you'll let me," she mutters to Tina, and Tina grabs her hand, pulling her backstage.

When the curtain rises again, the Glee club is resplendent in blue shirts and black jeans, their eyes shining under the big spotlights. Front and centre is Rachel Berry, her beam enough to light the whole auditorium up.

Will slides into the seat next to Emma. "Thank God for Rachel. I mean, I didn't think I'd say it, but I'm glad she's here tonight."

Emma doesn't say anything, but when Rachel's sweet, strong voice fills the space and enthralls all who listen, she squeezes Will's hand.

"Thanks, Will. For giving her a second chance."

He turns to her, smiles, and kisses her cheek. "I trust your judgement."

The last strains of "Somebody to Love" die away and Emma joins the rest of the auditorium in tumultuous applause, feeling her eyes tear up and run over.

When she blinks away her tears, she finds Rachel's eyes and claps just for her.

This is much more freeing than having her old life back by far.


End file.
